Ra'dirsha the Ravishing
by sunder92
Summary: when the hero of kavatch comes across a beaten and bloodied beggar in the streets, he takes her in. think oblivion meets My Fair Ladu. there will eventually be some lemon, so WATCH OUT!
1. Chapter 1

I don't know why I keep coming back here. Layawin had literally nothing within its walls of interest, save for the occasional scrap with the local Orcish street gangs. The blackwood company once lent interest, but they were long since disbanded. All in all this city was boring. The only reason I even came here is to take advantage of cheap alchemical imports from morrowind.

Suddenly a high pitched squeal filled the air, then was cut off. My head snapped to the right, where I thought it had originated. It had sounded pained. Scared. I strained my ears, waiting for another squeal.

A loud crack came from afar, and I bolted towards it. It had sounded like bone snapping, which is never a good thing to hear after a pained squeal. Someone was in trouble.

As I bounded into an ally, a voice reached my ears.

"HA!" I swear I could hear the sneer "Look at it squirm!"

"You flea bitten feline!" another jeered, "Begging for scraps like the beast you are!" another _THUMP_, then a coughing squeal emanated from around a corner.

I stopped dead, and peered around the corner. Three tall, golden skinned figures stood around a person on the ground. The golden men were obviously high-elves; Altmyr. The figure which they surrounded was blocked from sight, both by the darkness and the abusers.

One of them turned and dramatically spoke.

"You see my breahteren" he said with a finality I loathed in his voice, "what happens to bestial races when they are denied the loving hand of their masters? They have never been good for working in our fields and in our beds. This is what happens when they are starved of the direction and dedication of their betters; they become nothing more than ferial savages!" he punctuated his lofty speech by turning, and viciously kicking the victim in its side, sending them flying.

As the Kajitt hit the wall of the adjacent building and crumpled to the ground, I got my first clear look at the victim.

She was a small, female Kajitt, wearing shabby beggar clothing. Her light gold fur was matted in blood and dirt from her beating, and her clothes, ragged as they were, were torn further.

I winced as she fell to the dirt and a weak whimper escaped her lips. My anger towards these elves flared as they laughed at her pain. The talkative one stepped towards her.

"And do you know what happens to ferial creatures?" he asked rhetorically, "They get put down." He and his followers conjured fire to their hands and stepped forth menacingly.

"no…" the poor beggar pleaded "please…" Rage to which I was unaccustomed welled within my chest. This had long since gone too far.

I stepped from behind my cover, calling magic to my fingertips. A moment later, three bodies hit the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke slowly. A strange experience for me, as I was normally jerked into consciousness, violently awoken by a rock pelting me in the head, thrown by a rowdy young hooligan, or to the sting of fire ants creeping through my fur. Just one of the many 'benefits' of sleeping outside.

As I stirred to the waking world, I came to a stunning realization; I was comfortable.

I had no idea how this had happened and for the moment I didn't care. I fought against the slow creep of the real world, reluctant to give up the comfort to which I was so unaccustomed. Grudgingly, as sleep was lost to me for another day, I opened my eyes to take my situation in.

I WAS IN A BED! I was lying in a bed! This was good, very very good! That would explain the comfort I hadn't felt in years. The soft covers wand deep pillows bought me back to my childhood. After taking in the warmth of the quilted blanket, I looked around the room.

The walls were white and the ceiling and floor were wood. Upon one wall stretched a single long mirror, the opposite wall was blank. The wall I was against had a beautiful mosaic of a willow tree, and the final wall held a sliding door. It was a small room as rooms went, only eight feet in any direction, but it was the largest room I had been inside of in years.

I sat up to get a better look around the room, and the quilt fell off of me. A small desk sat under the mirror, and a small stool beneath that. On the blank wall was a dresser, one of its drawers slightly agape.

I decided I had learned all I could while staying immobile. The soft blanket caressed my fur as I slipped my feet off of the bed and onto the floor, and stood. I wiggled my toes, enjoying the lack of grass and dirt. All at once I noticed I was wearing different clothes.

I had on a pair of black leggings and a matching black shirt.

Well, that's weird… I thought to myself. I slowly walked to the mirror to make sure I was the same person.

Yes that was me. Same golden-brown fur, same large brown eyes. There were a few changes though… my eyes, however rarely I saw their reflection, were always bloodshot. These beautiful orbs that stared back at me were golden to match my fur, surrounded by pools of pure white. After marveling at my eyes, I turned to inspect the dresser.

First I opened the doors, which had several outfits of varying colors. I then pulled open the drawers… and gasped.

My old outfit lay within, neatly folded. The cloth was torn to shreds, and soaked in blood. All at once the memory of my beating came rushing back.

They had approached me near the cemetery. I could tell from the way they walked that they were trouble. I had tried to run and hide, but they had found me.

My hand flew to my chest. Hadn't they broken one of my ribs with a kick? I distinctly remembered the blinding pain and the sickening crack that had filled the air.

I undid my shirt with trembling fingers, and let it fall to the floor.

Flawless. My fingers pushed against my chest, checking each bone in turn. Each was strong. I pulled my shirt on again, breathing heavily. I took another deep breath to steady myself, and sat upon the bed. Then I froze as yet another realization hit me with all the force of an elven warhammer.

The reason I had been unable to escape my abusers was the same reason I had been unable to preform strenuous physical tasks for the last many years. I had long suffered from a disease what winded me, strained my breathing. Some called it the blood lung disease, a name that left little to the imagination, but I just called it… debilitating.

I had been unable to breathe deep for so very long. But now, the wind flowed through my body as easily as through the leaves of a tree.

I plopped back onto the bed, taking deep breaths, enjoying the feeling of filling my lungs to the bottom, then expelling them to the collapsing point.

After a minute or two of deep breathing, I accepted my new state and again stood up to explore my new surroundings. I walked lightly to the door, and slit it to the side. It rolled smoothly on oiled wheels, gliding aside and opening my path. I stepped into a short hallway. Another sliding door lay to the left, and a set of stairs to the right. I decided to leave the door to itself, and slowly walked down the stairs.

At the bottom of was a heavy looking door to my left, and a larger room to my right. The room was a strange one, stacked high with bookshelves and combat training gear. I vaguely recognized the dummies used for blade practice, as well as the bull's-eye used for spell targeting. I stepped towards the wooden target, and was surprised by the plush carpet beneath my feet.

Upon closer inspection the center target was revealed to be darkened with deep burns. Whoever lived here knew his spellcraft. I made my way to the large door and pushed my way outside… only to be hit by a wave of cold air.

I stepped outside, and into snow. The small white flakes brushed past my face and clung to my fur. I stared around at the beautiful mountainside scene that lay before me. I was standing within a large stone fort, elevated far off the ground. A single set of stairs cut a swathe through the platform, leading to a large gate. I walked to one of the walls, my feet padding lightly on the cold stone. Upon peering over the edge I noted that I stood some 40 feet off of the ground. I took a step back from the edge and looked around again.

I could almost see a city through the flurry of snowflakes, though I could only speculate that it was Bruma.

From behind me I heard a door swing open.

"Look whose finally awake!" called a smiling voice. I took one of my newfound deep breaths and turned to face my hero.

He was a pale Breton, dark hair pulled back into a rouge knot. He wore the same outfit as me, black leggings and a matching black shirt, though his, I noted, came with matching black shoes. He held a small smile, which carried through to his bright green eyes. He seemed abnormally pale, even for a smoothskin. He seemed almost… handsome, which was strange, for I had never found attraction outside of my own race.

There was no doubt in my mind that this was my savior.

"You must be freezing out here!" he said quickly, crossing the distance to me, and holding his hand out to me.

Taken off guard by his charming smile, I slowly took his outstretched hand.

"Who are you?" I quizzically rasped, my voice rusty from lack of use. Again he flashed his disarming smile.

"My name is Matt," he replied, and with that he pulled my towards the still open door, into the warmth and out of the cold.


	3. Chapter 3

Moments later I was seated before a roaring fire in what seemed to be a grand hall. Matt had sat me here before lighting the fire with the flick of his wrist, then disappearing through a door.

He seemed weirdly helpful. I could only assume he was the one whom had saved me from the Altmyr. Why? Most people, especially those of high standing wouldn't even bat an eye at the actions that had occurred on that night, let alone intervened. A simple glance around his home showed his incredibly high stature. So why did he help me? I sighed as I stared into the dancing flames. I had never been more confused in my life.

The door through which he had disappeared swung open, and in slid Matt holding a steaming wooden bowl in each hand. He crossed the distance quickly and passed one of the bowls to me, before taking his own to his seat. The bowl contained a strange, brothy soup. I caught sight of a few diced potatoes, carrots, leeks, as well as a few strange herbs I had never seen before. It occurred to me just then that I was starving.

You know, more so than usual.

"Eat slowly," he warned, "You have been out for a while, and I can only guess that your stomach wasn't very full to begin with." I grudgingly took his advice, and slowly chewed each bite, before gingerly swallowing. It tasted amazing and creamy, warming my throat, stomach, then spreading through my whole body. After a few swallows, I decided to try out my newly oiled vocal chords.

"How long?" I rasped. Apparently I had a way to go before my voice was back to normal.

"Pardon?" he inquired through a full mouth.

"How long was I out?" I whispered hoarsely.

"Ahh. Three days," he replied. I took this information in slowly.

"How did I get here?" I inquired softly, my voice strengthening up a bit.

"Well…" he started slowly as if remembering something painful, "I went to Layawin to gather some supplies, when I saw…" he stopped to calm himself.

"Saw what they were doing to you. I do not anger easily, but when I sat that… it was all I could do not to hurl fire and lightning without prejudice. Instead, my anger fueled a powerful illusion, and I loosed an unnatural paralysis. You were unconscious at the time, so you remained as such, but they were wide awake. Three days with no food, water, sleep, movement… better than they deserve." By the end of his story his hands were shaking.

I was truly touched. Slowly, I reached over, and took his trembling hand in my own.

"Thank you," I whispered with a small smile. He looked into my eyes, shocked. Then, slowly he too smiled. We held our touch and eachothers eyes for a little too long. He DID have nice eyes, light green and determined.

All at once we realized we were still touching, and jerked our hands back. We went back to our soup.

"I want you to stay here," he said all at once, "At the very least until you are fully healed."

"Where IS here?" I asked a little more smoothly.

"Cloudruler Manor," he said, "You are actually the first one to see it since its conversion. It was once a fort, but the previous owners owed me a favor." I decided not to press the issue. Instead I decided to address another line of questioning.

"So, it's just you here?" I inquired with a cocked head.

"Just me."

"No maid?"

"I'm not that messy," he grinned.

"No servants?"

"No need."

Strange for one who owned all that he did not to also have a small crew of lowly paid "help." I decided to try one last one.

"No wife?" I asked, sure of the answer.

"I was never lucky enough," he surprised me. Even I, a Kajitt, could tell this Breton was attractive, as humans go, and obviously inordinately kind. How was it that he was unwed? This was a mystery that would remain as such for now.

"I would hate to be a burden to someone who has given me so much in such a short time…" I said, my voice returning, "So, starting tomorrow, I will take on the duties as maid for the duration of my stay." He seemed to have no objections, allowing me to show my gratitude in my own small way. With his permission, I stood and gathered our now empty bowls and carried then towards the door he had entered through.

"May I know the name of my new maid at least?" he jested lightly. I blushed beneath my fur.

"Ra'dirsha," I left out my other moniker. With that, I pushed my way through the door, and into the kitchen on the other side.

The kitchen was large, and had more the air of a mess hall than a cookery. Once the dishes were cleaned and put away, Matt entered the kitchen.

"I need to head into town, but I want to show you something before I go."

He grabbed my hand, and pulled me to the far side of the kitchen, revealing a small set of stairs, leading down to a door. My heart fluttered at his touch, sending trembles down my shoulders. Again I wondered why someone with all he had; money, land, looks, power, would bother with someone like me. I was plain. Poor. Weak. I was nothing. I was a _BEGGAR!_ That he would notice me dying in the corner was amazing, let alone that he would save my life, take me in, nurse me to a health I had never before experienced, and even insist that I stay? It made no sense.

Mu confusion was stayed for the moment as he pulled me through the door and into a new room. This room had a large pool of steaming water in the center, as well as several large metal containers, connected by a myriad of pipes.

"That one," he said gesturing to the first large tank, "collects snow and heats it to its melting point. That one," he followed a pipe to the next one, "filters the water. This one," again he followed the pipe to another tank, "heats or cools the water as necessary and deposits it here." He gestured to a wide faucet. With the twist of a handle, steaming water gushed out of the faucet, into the pool.

My eyes widened in realization, then I laughed. It was a bathhouse! In the frozen mountain-peaks. A strange idea to say the least, but apparently not an impossible one. Seeing my realization he smiled.

"You should bathe here once daily," he said, gesturing to the pool, "it should help with your voice and joints."

"My joints?" I inquired, twisting my arms and shoulders freely.

"Though it may not feel like it they are incredibly sore and stiff," at my quizzical look he added, "I mixed a painkiller into the soup." I felt a small smile grow from his kindness.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Matt said, turning to the door. If I didn't ask now, it would haunt me forever.

"Why?" I blurted out, all that had happened summed up in one word. My monosyllabic inquery sopped him dead. Without turning he said softly;

"Because it was the right thing to do, and I was the right one to do it."

With that, he disappeared through the door, leaving me alone with my questions and the steam.


End file.
